Dinner Time Murder
by Sakura Fleur Miyuku
Summary: AU- Ahiru, a previous assassin, encounters Fakir, the rich, goody two-shoes beggar boy, desperate for a change of pace. When their paths cross, what will become of the definition for 'fate?  Rated 'M' just in case of future... lust. Disclaimer.


**Dinner Time Murder**

**1~ A New Trust**

**Sakura Fleur Miyuku**

The carriage finally made it's halt at the doorstep of Long Wood Manor, home of the annual Clow club, or as several commoners call it- the club for the Rich and Fancy. Tonight was it's seventh anniversary, thus they were celebrating one more year of boasting about their riches and fame. They held it in the typical Mansion, owned by the club's highest member and Vice President, Fakir Ritter.

The Mansion was large, in total of the fields and various pools surrounding it, it covered about half a mile. Tonight was the ideal weather for this event in specific, the night air was warm and there wasn't a star unseen; It was as if whoever arranged it could have controlled the clouds. In the main hall where the guests would dine, the chandelier hung high, drawing great attention with it's 20 candles clinging to its sides. The waiters dressed in fine black and white tuxedos, each with their own assignments for the night.

One long table stretched to the far end of the hall, showered in a silk white table cloth and at least 200 different plates, cutlery and glasses; each with their own variety of food. The upper class men were to dine at one end of the table, as not to be confused with the few commoners invited.

All in all, no one really considered this a special occasion; it was just another opportunity for one to flirt and boast about their own welfare. All, that is, except the President and father of Vice President- Steve Ritter. He was extremely concerned of his son- all his attentions and actions directed toward him. His son however, despised his father and refused his many peace... or money offerings. He may, at the very least, have accepted a single body guard; there were so many thousands tempted to gladly take his place.

* * *

The foot clamped to the ground silently, as not to draw attention. Her mask shielded her facial features, giving no clues to the identity. She handed the guard her ticket for observation, gave the carriage driver her thanks and instructions to collect her later, and entered the building without another sound. Her pink hair cascaded down her silky bare back, and her long, violet, thin dress clung to her shoulders to stay in place. She wore simple flats, carrying a small, white purse as her only accessory. Her mind was blank and orders simple. This was nothing really, compared to the very few targets remaining un-spared by her guilt ridden hands. She just had to lure him in, take him out, and leave without a trace. Sure, there would be suspicions, but she had her escape route all planned out.

The grand clock struck 9, and all silenced for the President's speech. They set down their silver wear and rested their heads on their gloved hands- turning their directions toward the left end of the table.

As the plump figure stood, many maidens gasped in awe at his fine outfits and several trinkets showering his form. He gave his thanks to the many who helped prepare the party, his voice booming and echoing throughout the hall. He then handed over to his seemingly unamused son, who stood slowly with boredom splashed on his face.

He cleared his throat before giving his announcement. "I would just like to thank all who helped set up for the event, and those who bothered to come," the last part said in a mumble. Receiving a kick from under the table, he continued, "Ow. Special thanks to Von Rothbart, Herr Drosselmeyer, Sir Siegfried and Miss Kraehe for donations." The guests gave their applause, some almost fainting for his charming face and soothing voice.

Steve Ritter had decided to try to convince his son to find a partner, one to share his fortunes and continue his legacy- seeing how many admirers he already obtained. One in particular caught his eye, the 'Miss Kraehe' mentioned earlier. She was the daughter of a very rich trader. If she were to be engaged to his son, he would be promised a safe future, and another heir to the family's fortune.

If he could just convince his son to consider it, he wouldn't have to worry about certain details and hand his place down to the two of them.

The meal ended, many scattered back to their carriages to escape the threatening storm nearing in. One, however, took cover in the rest rooms until the remaining residents had left. Clearly undetected by the guards, she sook out to locate her target. She had changed her clothing, as not to be recognized as an earlier attendant to the party.

Fakir sighed, retreating to his room for the remainders of the night. He was thoroughly confused on why his father had to repetitively pester him for a son or a new heir. It pissed him off; he just wanted to write and live in peace. His father was obviously not pleased at his choice in a living, therefore he offered places in higher in importance jobs. Fakir had enough. He was going to escape the clutches of fame, he wanted to be free. There was no one to stop him. Except of course, an under-cover assassin sent to kill him that night in particular.

She watched him from the window, thanking her lucky stars for her stealth skills. He lay down on his bed, unbuttoning his shirt. It was now she felt she was actually stalking someone- not just tracking them down for a hidden murder. She blushed and looked away when he un- zipped his pants.

_'God... I hate it when they're completely oblivious to the fact that I'm watching them...' _the girl thought to herself. There were two options from this point: Use her so called 'charms' to flirt with him, therefore knocking down his guard wall and taking him down. Or, she could simply sneak in, go for a silent assassination and slit his throat. Feeling no sense of accomplishment either way, she chose the second option. The problem is, even if he refused protection, there were countless guards stalking round the mansion- she was bound to be caught. If it weren't for the convenient ceiling window, she would've been dead-meat.

Grasping onto the window sill for dear life, the assassin climbed up the side out of the targets view, aiming for the rooftop. After... several attempts, she gained her balance and peered in through the glass, revealing Fakir, writing at his desk. Certain the cost was clear, she swung open the hatch, slipping into the room below. This didn't go unnoticed by the young author, yet he just spared a glance at the black clothed figure and sighed, turning back to his work.

The woman was clearly shocked- why wasn't he scared? Screaming? No, he wouldn't do that... calling his guards? Didn't he know why she was here? He couldn't possibly be so oblivious! Could anyone?

This being her first encounter with the boy, she really didn't know what to expect from him. All she heard was he was a rich little goody boy who had no concern for others welfare.

...She was wrong.

"Look, if you're going to do it, hurry up. I'm tired of this place. At least make it quick," his voice came from across the room. That just about put her on the edge.

"Why don't you call for help? You could have an easy escape," the anonymous woman questioned.

"That won't tempt me," he whispered. "I only wanted a quiet life. I might as well be reborn as something better. I know I should probably be grateful for this life, but still... I want someone else to have it."

This changed her view of the boy. She always pictured him the selfish little show off, seeing he was the VP of the Clow club. Forgetting her sympathy, she slapped her self back to reality. "Y-you know, that won't spare your life! I'll still complete my mission! Or it's my life on the line!" She lunged forward, plucking a butchers knife from who knows where. She paused, the knife mere centre metres from the back of his neck. She had no reason to hesitate, so why stop? Was it because she had no sense of accomplishment? All she wanted was to take the kill, to spare her own life.

Why was it she couldn't take this man's life? Did she want to make him suffer? Of course, he requested a quick death, but still...

"Why...won't you plunge it into my neck? You came to kill, correct? So why stop now? You're so close to a clear victory," he whispered softly.

"I... I feel empathy... right now... I don't know. There's something about you. You aren't like the others. You clearly have a purpose in this world, yet, you refuse to fulfill your role," she answered after several seconds of hesitation. Pulling of her hockey mask that shielded her face, she reached out and turned his head to face her. He gasped at her beauty, the large pools of blue representing the very pits of space that one would consider eyes. Her thin lips sealed together, the faint shower of freckles darted across her nose. There was something about her, it was unexplainable.

"Are you not going to kill me?"

The girl shuddered. His voice sounded so... soothing? Remembering her duty, she jabbed a small amount of the knife into his neck, only to stop and immediately pull it out. "I-... I can't..."

"Hm. Figures. So how is it someone like you feels you can't kill just another boy? Isn't it a sign of weakness?" he asked. His raven hair tickled her shaky hands as she slowly re approached his smooth skin. "How do you suppose they'll take it if I'm not dead? Didn't you say it was your life on the line?"

Her eyes shot open and she dropped the knife, in the process cutting her own hand. "I... I'm sorry. I just can't... not you," she whimpered.

He grabbed her hand, turning on his chair, inspecting the cut. It was pretty deep, she should've been glad it didn't hit her wrist. He hesitantly lifted his hand, wiping the traces of blood now spiraling down her hand. When she winced in pain, he regretted his actions. Even if that very same girl just cut the back of his neck slightly, hurting her felt so... wrong. "For an assassin- which I assume you are- you're not too careful now, are you? Jumping straight down in view of your target, dropping a knife on your hand... hopeless. Come on, before it gets worse," he took out a small strip of material and wrapped it round the wound.

It was odd; having someone you were meant to kill wrap your bleeding hand in a bandage. They say truth is stranger than fiction, here it certainly was.

_Why was it he felt this way? This girl, this killer he had only just met- it was awakening something. Like a hidden desire, one he had never felt before. _

"You should leave, before my poor excuse for a father come to check on me." Even whilst having his life threatened, he couldn't help but pluck out an insult.

"Didn't you want to escape too? And you really think I'll just leave, letting them take my life? I have a duty, and yours hasn't been filled." She grabbed the back of his collar, pulling him to his feet. He gasped, either from the fact it was his _collar _she was pulling on, or her sudden motion and change of voice.

"Listen here, mister," she muttered in a threatening- or as threateningly as _she _could manage-

voice. "If you help bail me out of this mess, I'll let you off the hook. If you want to give up this life, I'd gladly help."

He shuddered, her warm breath was so close to his pale skin. He nodded trustfully.

"And if it's a trap?" she suggested herself.

"So what if it is..." he whimpered. He just wanted to leave his horrible club, they had no shame. They were hardly aware of the pain it was forcing on others around them- including himself. Frankly, he didn't care of his reputation- what others thought of him could easily be as low as he thought of them.

Without further hesitation, the woman jerked on the cloth surrounding his neck and dragged him to the window. Unlike the hesitations to plunge a knife into his neck, she thrust open the layer of glass, gripping to the sides of the frame for support. Still clinging to his body, she lowered Fakir to the small platform sitting just outside the window. She hooked a cable to her side, attaching the other end securely to the leg of his bed. "Hold on," she told him firmly. He obeyed, clutching to her body (blushing) for dear life. She grasped the rope and allowed herself to slide down to the ground with ease.

At this point, Fakir was ready to regurgitate whatever he acquired in his stomach the day prior. Clearly unaccustomed to sliding down windows, his insides felt out of place and his face scrunched up uncomfortably in her arms.

Once at ground level, she released his neck- allowing him to breath. "You... just who are you?" he managed through his twisting vision.

"What, no '_tell me, fair maiden... I desire to know your name_', or anything?" she stifled a giggle.

Regaining his balance, he snorted sarcastically. "Do I really look that much like my father?" he chuckled softly.

"Obviously, if you're able to laugh," she retorted. Her feet shuffled in the grass, disturbing the silence.

"Where do you plan on going?" Fakir asked out of the blue.

"Don't worry, I don't plan on seducing you," she mumbled before continuing. "well, I cant head home- that's the first place they'd look. To be honest, I've no idea. Suggestions?"

A bit taken back by the fact she hadn't planned this all the way, he rested a hand on his forehead. It was true he had hundreds of optional vacation spots, all of which being related to the family's estate.

Sighing, he began walking towards the woods behind the mansion.

"Y-you're not abandoning me now are you?"she blurted out.

"Course not. The guards will be making their rounds soon, best to be safe than sorry." he replied stiffly.

She followed after in agreement, stealth proving itself worthy as she swept silently across the grass. She was finding if difficult to believe he could so easily trust someone who just recently jabbed the tip of a knife into his neck, but he had been through worse.

"You never answered my question. Your name. I'm sure you know mine," his voice settled into the crisp air.

"Nn- Ahiru," she answered almost nervously. The other assassins often mocked her on her name, imitating the animal to which it belonged. If it weren't for her special training, she'd still be tripping over her two left feet every second.

"Nice duck-like name for a duck-like girl," he teased.

Ouch, did she see that coming. "Oh, so I'd like to see _you _jump out of a 7 story building!" she humphed sarcastically, before picking up her foots' slowed pace as to keep up with his long strides.

She was starting to prefer his quiet, suicidal attitude.

Ahiru knew she was only doing this for her own good, to escape from the clutches of those abominations. It was making her glad she _hadn't _killed Fakir, just to prove them wrong. She wasn't even _paid_ to steal the lives of so many. Glancing up to meet his back, she felt she could trust him. Even for a while, she'd like to depend on him- for what it's worth.

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A/N- Okay, that took me a day to write whilst skimming in and out of homework and stuff. Man school's depressing. I'll upload another chapter tomorrow, hopefully. Now imma gonna get some sleeping pills... chow 4 now.


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